Everything I Need, page 15
“The best.”
She shook the latest package. “What is it? Tell me.”
“Or you could just open it.”
“I think I will.”
She ripped into it, her nerdy doctor’s heart breaking into a happy dance when she saw that it was—
“Oh, my God! This is like the Rolls Royce of stethoscopes! This is amazing! Thank you! I’ll be able to hear almost all the little kids’ hearts with this baby!”
He laughed indulgently. “I’m all for that.”
“How did you know?”
“I did a little research. Great gifts for doctors. And I have one more thing for you.”
He handed her a small flat box, about the size for a bracelet, but she wasn’t done with her new toy just yet.
“Hang on,” she said, putting the eartips in. “You can be my patient for a minute so I can test this thing out. Let’s see if you have a heart in there—”
“You know I have a heart,” he said huskily, catching her wrist just as she reached out with the chestpiece. Bright patches of color resolved over his cheekbones. “It beats for you.”
Overcome, she scrambled onto his lap, the better to wrap her arms around his neck and rain kisses on his face and lips. The heat rose between them, as it always did, and it wasn’t long before they were breathless again and the unmistakable length of his erection pressed against her thigh.
Just as she began to wonder whether they had time for a quickie and a shower before dinner, he broke away and lowered her hands from either side of his head when she would have pulled him back in.
“When can you come to London? We have to see how you like it there.”
Passion and urgency turned his eyes to indigo, two vivid flames that seemed likely to consume her whole. And suddenly it all became too much. Losing herself to this man in the privacy of their vacation lodge or in the familiar comfort of her apartment back home was one thing. Entering into discussions that could ultimately lead her to moving to London—London!—to be with him was something else altogether.
She stiffened involuntarily. “Anthony…”
Just like that, the flame inside him went out, dimming the light in his face by a good fifty percent.
“You don’t want to come,” he said dully.
“No. That’s not it. It’s just that this is a lot. And we’re just starting out.”
His expression cleared. “If this is about my grandmother, I told her about you.”
His grandmother had been one of the last things on her mind at this particular moment, but now she paused, arrested.
She already knew that Anthony kept his word, but there was a world of difference between keeping your word about calling at a certain time or remembering to grab a gallon of milk on your way home and keeping your word about initiating what could well be a difficult conversation with your grandmother and sovereign.
“You did?”
“Yes. She doesn’t care about anyone’s demographics.”
Whoa.
Melody blinked, shocked.
It wasn’t that she’d suspected that the Queen of England was a closet racist or would object to her beloved grandson becoming seriously involved with a black woman. It was that Melody’s understanding of the British aristocracy led her to believe that there were classes and expectations. People like them, and people like us. Did Melody come from a lovely upper middle-class American family that could afford a weekly gardener and housekeeper? Sure. But that had no more connection to the type of wealth Anthony was used to than a kangaroo had to a sea horse. And it hadn’t escaped her notice that, unless she was visiting with some African dignitary or President Obama, the Queen didn’t exactly spend a lot of one-on-one time with black folks. Or middle-class folks.
She nodded, equally shaken and excited about this removal of what would have been a huge obstacle to their deepening relationship.
“You’re scaring me,” he said, and he was beginning to look a little green around the edges. “Is it that you see this relationship only going so far?”
Now there was a ridiculous question, one that buffed some of the rough edges off the sudden flare of fear she’d experienced. As if she could control the way her heart pounded when he looked at her or regulate her growing determination to spend as much time as possible learning everything she could about this intriguing man.
“No,” she said. “That’s not it at all.”
Heartfelt sigh of relief from Anthony, who gripped the hair at her nape and pulled her in for a fervent forehead kiss.
“What is it, then?”
She took a minute, determined to get her words just right.
“It’s that…my life and career are in Journey’s End. My friends. My family is nearby. The issue isn’t whether things are good between you and me. They’re amazing.”
He grinned and brought her in for another forehead kiss.
“But this is all too much to absorb right now. We need to spend way more time together before we start talking about changing anyone’s geography. Plus…”
She trailed off and shook her head, not wanting to go too far and hurt him.
But his eyes already glinted with sharpening interest.
“Plus?”
She paused. Took a deep breath and decided that their relationship deserved her complete honesty.
“Plus, I saw so much more about your life today.”
He tensed.
“My…life?”
“The crowds. The security. The cameras. It’s insane. I don’t know how a person gets used to that. I know it’s a tremendous privilege to be able to live the life you live and travel and meet people, but I see the sacrifice that goes with it. I saw the look on your face. I know you well enough to know when you’re nervous and uncomfortable. I mean, how do you get used to that?”
His jaw hardened.
“I’m not sure one ever gets used to it. But it’s always been like this for me back home and during engagements. It’s what I know.”
“But…when you went to NYU?”
“That was a brief period of anonymity that I never expected to last. I’ve made my peace with it.”
“Right. And the woman who winds up with you is going to have to make her peace with it, too.”
It was hard not to see the hurt in his face. The bewilderment.
“The woman who winds up with me?” he asked faintly.
She nodded, sudden misery making her throat tight.
“Don’t look at me like that. I can’t take it.”
“So…” He shuttered all that emotion away and cleared his throat. “So what are you saying?”
As if she knew.
She thought it over. Weighed her words.
“I’m saying that since you’re putting a lot of emphasis on London, maybe it would be best if we hold off on that for a while. Maybe I could plan to go over for your investiture in September.”
“September?”
“I know I can’t attend the ceremony as a girlfriend, but I’d love to support you behind the scenes. In the meantime, we can, I don’t know, meet in other places. Paris, maybe. Bermuda. Toronto. I don’t expect you to come to me all the time.”
“What about Journey’s End?” he asked, looking stricken. “I love it there. It’s a lovely little town. Don’t you want me back?”
“Of course I want you back. I love it when you come. And things are easier in Journey’s End, anyway, aren’t they? We don’t have to be as discreet there because no one knows who you are. So we’re free to go where we want to go and do what we want to do without having to be undercover all the time. And it’s not forever. Just until we have a stronger foundation and we’re both sure what we want.”
“‘Until we’re both sure what we want,’” he echoed dully, and maybe it was her imagination, but she was pretty sure she heard a trace of bitterness in his voice.
And she, once again, couldn’t take it.
“Anthony.” She palmed his face and kissed his forehead…his eyes… his nose…his mouth…anything she could do to wipe away the disappointment. “Don’t be upset. Please don’t be upset. You know I’m talking good sense. I don’t see how we can fly under the radar in London like we can in other places.”
Harsh sigh from Anthony, who gave her a final kiss, then pressed his lips to her neck and pulled her in for a tight squeeze.
“You know I can’t be upset with you.”
She eased back enough to check him out and see whether he was serious or not. His face still held shadows that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago, but he seemed resigned, and that was good enough for right now.
“Are we good?”
“We’re good,” he said.
“Thank God. I guess we should get ready for dinner, huh?”
“I guess we should.”
She stood, sending something tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump.
It was the last gift in that small flat box, she saw.
“I never opened my final present,” she said, stooping to pick it up.
He looked uncomfortable.
“It’s okay. Now is probably not the time.”
Her heart sank. Despite what he’d just said, he really was upset, wasn’t he? Maybe he didn’t want her to have the gift now that she’d hurt his feelings.
She offered it back to him, her heart aching.
“I can open it later, if you want. And I’ll understand if you don’t feel like giving it to me now.”
They watched each other for a beat or two, then he blinked away the lingering traces of hurt and dimpled at her.
“I want you to have it.”
“You sure?”
“I’m positive.”
Grinning and thrilled that her introduction of a note of caution into the proceedings hadn’t ruined the whole trip, she sat on the coffee table in front of him and tore into the package. Inside the box was a tiny velvet drawstring pouch. Inside the pouch was—
“Oh, my God. It’s a spoon ring!”
He looked startled. “You know them?”
“Of course I know them. Kids make them in metalworking classes. But I’ve never seen one like this before.”
It was gorgeous. Highly polished sterling silver with ornate shellwork that fit perfectly on her right pinky.
“I love it!” she cried, pressing her hands to her heart. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, darling.”
“It looks like an antique. Where did you find it?” she asked, basking in the renewed warmth of his steady gaze.
He started to speak. Hesitated.
“I knew you had to have it when I saw it,” he said finally.
“I really love it,” she said, admiring it on her finger.
He stood, pausing to press a kiss to the top of her head before getting up and heading to the bathroom. “I’m glad. I’ll just be a moment.”
“Okay.”
But he turned back on the threshold, his expression troubled once again.
“You’re not gearing up to break my heart, are you, Dr. Harrison?”
A fervent denial rose up her throat but never made the border crossing into her mouth.
Was she gearing up to break his heart? Absolutely not. Not when he was such a wonderful person with whom she had many important things in common. Not when their blossoming relationship seemed so bright and promising. Not when she was pretty sure that breaking his heart would also break hers.
But…
Was she ready to discuss London and think about the possibility of leaving everything she knew and loved behind in Journey’s End?
No, she was not.
She turned away, the words stuck in her throat.
He turned away, his expression shadowed as he returned to the bathroom and shut the door on her uncertainty.
14
Nine Months Later
“Sorry I’m late.”
Melody put down her cup of tea and glanced up from her phone in time to track Samira’s stroller-pushing approach to their table at Java Nectar, Journey’s End’s local coffeehouse and bustling activity hub on this bright Saturday morning in September. The new mom and bride-to-be looked harried as she parked the stroller, gave Melody a quick peck and dropped into her chair, but Melody only had eyes for the baby.
Who was awake!
“Hi, handsome,” she cooed, reaching out to unlatch him from all his restraints. He wore the cutest little mossy green romper that matched his eyes and had white booties on his feet. “How are you? Come to Auntie Melody.”
“We had to swing by the florist, which took forever,” Samira continued. “And I had my final fitting before that. So it’s been a busy morning. But your little friend here slept most of the time, so he’s doing his part.”
Melody, who now had nearly two-month-old Jean-Luc settled in her lap, made a show of scanning the room, looking everywhere but at Samira.
“I’m sorry. Did someone somewhere say something?” she said in her most soothing voice. “I thought I heard a noise, but I was too busy admiring all these little fingers and these chubby cheeks to notice who was talking. Yes, I was. Yes, I wa-as!”
Samira rolled her eyes but gave the pair of them a resigned why fight city hall? smile.
“I’m getting used to being invisible when the baby’s in the room. Although I do hope a couple of people notice me on Saturday. At my wedding.”
“Stop whining.” Melody snapped over the top of Jean-Luc’s curly dark head. “Your wedding is not all about you.”
They both laughed.
“You can’t blame people,” Melody said, caressing the baby’s silky little arm and categorically unable to look away from his soulful green eyes, so much like Baptiste’s. With his honeyed skin and Samira’s lush mouth, this one was going to break a lot of hearts when he grew up. “This is a gorgeous baby.”
Samira’s radiant glow threatened to subsume everyone within a three-mile radius.
“He is pretty special, isn’t he?”
Melody slung him over her shoulder and patted his back, reveling in his solid weight and powdery fresh scent, which was catnip to her aging ovaries. Sudden longing actually made her breasts and belly ache.
“He’s amazing. I think I’m going to keep him.”
Samira snorted. “Good luck with that. You know Baptiste threw a fit when I told him I was bringing him with me today, right?”
“Too many germs?”
“Too many germs. Too loud in here with all the chattering and the music. You name it.”
“You need to lock that down before Baptiste turns into a full-blown helicopter dad.”
“I’m working on it, but it may already be too late,” Samira said grimly. “It’s not that easy to—oh, hello, guys! How are you?”
Melody looked around in time to see the final approach of eight- or nine-year-old identical twins Noah (with the glasses) and Jonah Lowe, who were the sons of Miranda, owner of Java Nectar. They were evidently on duty again this morning. They both wore small white aprons tied around their narrow, jeans-clad hips, and Jonah set a handful of napkins and cutlery on the table, while Noah presented them with menus.
“Hey, fellas,” Melody said, turning the baby around so the twins could see him.
“Is that your baby, Ms. Samira?” Noah asked, peering down at Jean-Luc, who stared back with avid interest.
“It is,” Samira said proudly.
“Glad you finally had him,” Jonah said. “You were pregnant for, like, two years.”
“Yeah. You were huge,” Noah added.
“Anyway,” Samira said loudly, shooting quick death glares at the boys, “His name is Jean-Luc.”
The twins broke into ecstatic grins.
“Like Jean-Luc Picard from Star Trek: The Next Generation?” Jonah cried. “Cool!”
“Did you give him a cool middle name, too?” Noah asked eagerly. “Like McCoy or Chekov?”
“Actually, I hate to tell you this, but he’s named after Baptiste,” Samira said gently, managing to repress most of her amusement. “Baptiste’s full name is Jean-Baptiste. And the baby’s middle name is Joseph, after my father.”
The boys blinked, looking crestfallen.
Then Jonah brightened. “Well, at least he’s got hair.”
“Yeah.” Noah took a closer look at the baby. “And he doesn’t look as much like a shar-pei as that baby that was here last week, so that’s good.”
“You don’t tell someone their baby looks like a shar-pei, dummy!” Jonah said, thumping his brother in the belly with the back of his hand. “It’s rude!”
“I said he looks less like a shar-pei!” Noah cried. “What’s wrong with that? It’s a compliment.”
Jonah turned to Melody and opened his mouth, darting a look at her scar. But then he seemed to think better of it and stopped himself.
Melody shot Samira a discreet here we go again eye roll and plastered a pleasant smile on her face.
“Did you want to ask me something about my scar, Jonah? You can go ahead. I don’t mind.”
Jonah hesitated.
“If you have a baby, will it have the same kind of scar?” he asked with bright innocence. “On his neck and cheek and all?”
“Nope.” Melody kept her voice upbeat even when she saw the wave of relief sweep across the boys’ faces. “I wasn’t born with the scar, so I can’t pass it on.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with your scar,” Noah added hurriedly. “I think it’s cool. Like a pirate. Pirates have cool scars. Or maybe you were in a knife fight or something.”
“It doesn’t look like a knife-fight scar, stupid!” Jonah cried. “That would be like a slice! Not—”
“Ah, guys?” Melody asked, smothering almost all of her laugh and trying to divert the conversation before it devolved into fisticuffs. “How’s school going?”
“Great!” Jonah said, nicely distracted. “We get to start band this year.”
“Band?” Samira said. “Awesome! What instruments are you playing?”
“Alto sax,” Noah said.
“Tuba,” Jonah said.
Samira and Melody blinked at each other. Melody decided to dive in and just ask.
“Ah, Jonah? Isn’t the tuba about as big as you are?”
“It is. But I’m committed,” Jonah said gravely.
She shook the latest package. “What is it? Tell me.”
“Or you could just open it.”
“I think I will.”
She ripped into it, her nerdy doctor’s heart breaking into a happy dance when she saw that it was—
“Oh, my God! This is like the Rolls Royce of stethoscopes! This is amazing! Thank you! I’ll be able to hear almost all the little kids’ hearts with this baby!”
He laughed indulgently. “I’m all for that.”
“How did you know?”
“I did a little research. Great gifts for doctors. And I have one more thing for you.”
He handed her a small flat box, about the size for a bracelet, but she wasn’t done with her new toy just yet.
“Hang on,” she said, putting the eartips in. “You can be my patient for a minute so I can test this thing out. Let’s see if you have a heart in there—”
“You know I have a heart,” he said huskily, catching her wrist just as she reached out with the chestpiece. Bright patches of color resolved over his cheekbones. “It beats for you.”
Overcome, she scrambled onto his lap, the better to wrap her arms around his neck and rain kisses on his face and lips. The heat rose between them, as it always did, and it wasn’t long before they were breathless again and the unmistakable length of his erection pressed against her thigh.
Just as she began to wonder whether they had time for a quickie and a shower before dinner, he broke away and lowered her hands from either side of his head when she would have pulled him back in.
“When can you come to London? We have to see how you like it there.”
Passion and urgency turned his eyes to indigo, two vivid flames that seemed likely to consume her whole. And suddenly it all became too much. Losing herself to this man in the privacy of their vacation lodge or in the familiar comfort of her apartment back home was one thing. Entering into discussions that could ultimately lead her to moving to London—London!—to be with him was something else altogether.
She stiffened involuntarily. “Anthony…”
Just like that, the flame inside him went out, dimming the light in his face by a good fifty percent.
“You don’t want to come,” he said dully.
“No. That’s not it. It’s just that this is a lot. And we’re just starting out.”
His expression cleared. “If this is about my grandmother, I told her about you.”
His grandmother had been one of the last things on her mind at this particular moment, but now she paused, arrested.
She already knew that Anthony kept his word, but there was a world of difference between keeping your word about calling at a certain time or remembering to grab a gallon of milk on your way home and keeping your word about initiating what could well be a difficult conversation with your grandmother and sovereign.
“You did?”
“Yes. She doesn’t care about anyone’s demographics.”
Whoa.
Melody blinked, shocked.
It wasn’t that she’d suspected that the Queen of England was a closet racist or would object to her beloved grandson becoming seriously involved with a black woman. It was that Melody’s understanding of the British aristocracy led her to believe that there were classes and expectations. People like them, and people like us. Did Melody come from a lovely upper middle-class American family that could afford a weekly gardener and housekeeper? Sure. But that had no more connection to the type of wealth Anthony was used to than a kangaroo had to a sea horse. And it hadn’t escaped her notice that, unless she was visiting with some African dignitary or President Obama, the Queen didn’t exactly spend a lot of one-on-one time with black folks. Or middle-class folks.
She nodded, equally shaken and excited about this removal of what would have been a huge obstacle to their deepening relationship.
“You’re scaring me,” he said, and he was beginning to look a little green around the edges. “Is it that you see this relationship only going so far?”
Now there was a ridiculous question, one that buffed some of the rough edges off the sudden flare of fear she’d experienced. As if she could control the way her heart pounded when he looked at her or regulate her growing determination to spend as much time as possible learning everything she could about this intriguing man.
“No,” she said. “That’s not it at all.”
Heartfelt sigh of relief from Anthony, who gripped the hair at her nape and pulled her in for a fervent forehead kiss.
“What is it, then?”
She took a minute, determined to get her words just right.
“It’s that…my life and career are in Journey’s End. My friends. My family is nearby. The issue isn’t whether things are good between you and me. They’re amazing.”
He grinned and brought her in for another forehead kiss.
“But this is all too much to absorb right now. We need to spend way more time together before we start talking about changing anyone’s geography. Plus…”
She trailed off and shook her head, not wanting to go too far and hurt him.
But his eyes already glinted with sharpening interest.
“Plus?”
She paused. Took a deep breath and decided that their relationship deserved her complete honesty.
“Plus, I saw so much more about your life today.”
He tensed.
“My…life?”
“The crowds. The security. The cameras. It’s insane. I don’t know how a person gets used to that. I know it’s a tremendous privilege to be able to live the life you live and travel and meet people, but I see the sacrifice that goes with it. I saw the look on your face. I know you well enough to know when you’re nervous and uncomfortable. I mean, how do you get used to that?”
His jaw hardened.
“I’m not sure one ever gets used to it. But it’s always been like this for me back home and during engagements. It’s what I know.”
“But…when you went to NYU?”
“That was a brief period of anonymity that I never expected to last. I’ve made my peace with it.”
“Right. And the woman who winds up with you is going to have to make her peace with it, too.”
It was hard not to see the hurt in his face. The bewilderment.
“The woman who winds up with me?” he asked faintly.
She nodded, sudden misery making her throat tight.
“Don’t look at me like that. I can’t take it.”
“So…” He shuttered all that emotion away and cleared his throat. “So what are you saying?”
As if she knew.
She thought it over. Weighed her words.
“I’m saying that since you’re putting a lot of emphasis on London, maybe it would be best if we hold off on that for a while. Maybe I could plan to go over for your investiture in September.”
“September?”
“I know I can’t attend the ceremony as a girlfriend, but I’d love to support you behind the scenes. In the meantime, we can, I don’t know, meet in other places. Paris, maybe. Bermuda. Toronto. I don’t expect you to come to me all the time.”
“What about Journey’s End?” he asked, looking stricken. “I love it there. It’s a lovely little town. Don’t you want me back?”
“Of course I want you back. I love it when you come. And things are easier in Journey’s End, anyway, aren’t they? We don’t have to be as discreet there because no one knows who you are. So we’re free to go where we want to go and do what we want to do without having to be undercover all the time. And it’s not forever. Just until we have a stronger foundation and we’re both sure what we want.”
“‘Until we’re both sure what we want,’” he echoed dully, and maybe it was her imagination, but she was pretty sure she heard a trace of bitterness in his voice.
And she, once again, couldn’t take it.
“Anthony.” She palmed his face and kissed his forehead…his eyes… his nose…his mouth…anything she could do to wipe away the disappointment. “Don’t be upset. Please don’t be upset. You know I’m talking good sense. I don’t see how we can fly under the radar in London like we can in other places.”
Harsh sigh from Anthony, who gave her a final kiss, then pressed his lips to her neck and pulled her in for a tight squeeze.
“You know I can’t be upset with you.”
She eased back enough to check him out and see whether he was serious or not. His face still held shadows that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago, but he seemed resigned, and that was good enough for right now.
“Are we good?”
“We’re good,” he said.
“Thank God. I guess we should get ready for dinner, huh?”
“I guess we should.”
She stood, sending something tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump.
It was the last gift in that small flat box, she saw.
“I never opened my final present,” she said, stooping to pick it up.
He looked uncomfortable.
“It’s okay. Now is probably not the time.”
Her heart sank. Despite what he’d just said, he really was upset, wasn’t he? Maybe he didn’t want her to have the gift now that she’d hurt his feelings.
She offered it back to him, her heart aching.
“I can open it later, if you want. And I’ll understand if you don’t feel like giving it to me now.”
They watched each other for a beat or two, then he blinked away the lingering traces of hurt and dimpled at her.
“I want you to have it.”
“You sure?”
“I’m positive.”
Grinning and thrilled that her introduction of a note of caution into the proceedings hadn’t ruined the whole trip, she sat on the coffee table in front of him and tore into the package. Inside the box was a tiny velvet drawstring pouch. Inside the pouch was—
“Oh, my God. It’s a spoon ring!”
He looked startled. “You know them?”
“Of course I know them. Kids make them in metalworking classes. But I’ve never seen one like this before.”
It was gorgeous. Highly polished sterling silver with ornate shellwork that fit perfectly on her right pinky.
“I love it!” she cried, pressing her hands to her heart. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, darling.”
“It looks like an antique. Where did you find it?” she asked, basking in the renewed warmth of his steady gaze.
He started to speak. Hesitated.
“I knew you had to have it when I saw it,” he said finally.
“I really love it,” she said, admiring it on her finger.
He stood, pausing to press a kiss to the top of her head before getting up and heading to the bathroom. “I’m glad. I’ll just be a moment.”
“Okay.”
But he turned back on the threshold, his expression troubled once again.
“You’re not gearing up to break my heart, are you, Dr. Harrison?”
A fervent denial rose up her throat but never made the border crossing into her mouth.
Was she gearing up to break his heart? Absolutely not. Not when he was such a wonderful person with whom she had many important things in common. Not when their blossoming relationship seemed so bright and promising. Not when she was pretty sure that breaking his heart would also break hers.
But…
Was she ready to discuss London and think about the possibility of leaving everything she knew and loved behind in Journey’s End?
No, she was not.
She turned away, the words stuck in her throat.
He turned away, his expression shadowed as he returned to the bathroom and shut the door on her uncertainty.
14
Nine Months Later
“Sorry I’m late.”
Melody put down her cup of tea and glanced up from her phone in time to track Samira’s stroller-pushing approach to their table at Java Nectar, Journey’s End’s local coffeehouse and bustling activity hub on this bright Saturday morning in September. The new mom and bride-to-be looked harried as she parked the stroller, gave Melody a quick peck and dropped into her chair, but Melody only had eyes for the baby.
Who was awake!
“Hi, handsome,” she cooed, reaching out to unlatch him from all his restraints. He wore the cutest little mossy green romper that matched his eyes and had white booties on his feet. “How are you? Come to Auntie Melody.”
“We had to swing by the florist, which took forever,” Samira continued. “And I had my final fitting before that. So it’s been a busy morning. But your little friend here slept most of the time, so he’s doing his part.”
Melody, who now had nearly two-month-old Jean-Luc settled in her lap, made a show of scanning the room, looking everywhere but at Samira.
“I’m sorry. Did someone somewhere say something?” she said in her most soothing voice. “I thought I heard a noise, but I was too busy admiring all these little fingers and these chubby cheeks to notice who was talking. Yes, I was. Yes, I wa-as!”
Samira rolled her eyes but gave the pair of them a resigned why fight city hall? smile.
“I’m getting used to being invisible when the baby’s in the room. Although I do hope a couple of people notice me on Saturday. At my wedding.”
“Stop whining.” Melody snapped over the top of Jean-Luc’s curly dark head. “Your wedding is not all about you.”
They both laughed.
“You can’t blame people,” Melody said, caressing the baby’s silky little arm and categorically unable to look away from his soulful green eyes, so much like Baptiste’s. With his honeyed skin and Samira’s lush mouth, this one was going to break a lot of hearts when he grew up. “This is a gorgeous baby.”
Samira’s radiant glow threatened to subsume everyone within a three-mile radius.
“He is pretty special, isn’t he?”
Melody slung him over her shoulder and patted his back, reveling in his solid weight and powdery fresh scent, which was catnip to her aging ovaries. Sudden longing actually made her breasts and belly ache.
“He’s amazing. I think I’m going to keep him.”
Samira snorted. “Good luck with that. You know Baptiste threw a fit when I told him I was bringing him with me today, right?”
“Too many germs?”
“Too many germs. Too loud in here with all the chattering and the music. You name it.”
“You need to lock that down before Baptiste turns into a full-blown helicopter dad.”
“I’m working on it, but it may already be too late,” Samira said grimly. “It’s not that easy to—oh, hello, guys! How are you?”
Melody looked around in time to see the final approach of eight- or nine-year-old identical twins Noah (with the glasses) and Jonah Lowe, who were the sons of Miranda, owner of Java Nectar. They were evidently on duty again this morning. They both wore small white aprons tied around their narrow, jeans-clad hips, and Jonah set a handful of napkins and cutlery on the table, while Noah presented them with menus.
“Hey, fellas,” Melody said, turning the baby around so the twins could see him.
“Is that your baby, Ms. Samira?” Noah asked, peering down at Jean-Luc, who stared back with avid interest.
“It is,” Samira said proudly.
“Glad you finally had him,” Jonah said. “You were pregnant for, like, two years.”
“Yeah. You were huge,” Noah added.
“Anyway,” Samira said loudly, shooting quick death glares at the boys, “His name is Jean-Luc.”
The twins broke into ecstatic grins.
“Like Jean-Luc Picard from Star Trek: The Next Generation?” Jonah cried. “Cool!”
“Did you give him a cool middle name, too?” Noah asked eagerly. “Like McCoy or Chekov?”
“Actually, I hate to tell you this, but he’s named after Baptiste,” Samira said gently, managing to repress most of her amusement. “Baptiste’s full name is Jean-Baptiste. And the baby’s middle name is Joseph, after my father.”
The boys blinked, looking crestfallen.
Then Jonah brightened. “Well, at least he’s got hair.”
“Yeah.” Noah took a closer look at the baby. “And he doesn’t look as much like a shar-pei as that baby that was here last week, so that’s good.”
“You don’t tell someone their baby looks like a shar-pei, dummy!” Jonah said, thumping his brother in the belly with the back of his hand. “It’s rude!”
“I said he looks less like a shar-pei!” Noah cried. “What’s wrong with that? It’s a compliment.”
Jonah turned to Melody and opened his mouth, darting a look at her scar. But then he seemed to think better of it and stopped himself.
Melody shot Samira a discreet here we go again eye roll and plastered a pleasant smile on her face.
“Did you want to ask me something about my scar, Jonah? You can go ahead. I don’t mind.”
Jonah hesitated.
“If you have a baby, will it have the same kind of scar?” he asked with bright innocence. “On his neck and cheek and all?”
“Nope.” Melody kept her voice upbeat even when she saw the wave of relief sweep across the boys’ faces. “I wasn’t born with the scar, so I can’t pass it on.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with your scar,” Noah added hurriedly. “I think it’s cool. Like a pirate. Pirates have cool scars. Or maybe you were in a knife fight or something.”
“It doesn’t look like a knife-fight scar, stupid!” Jonah cried. “That would be like a slice! Not—”
“Ah, guys?” Melody asked, smothering almost all of her laugh and trying to divert the conversation before it devolved into fisticuffs. “How’s school going?”
“Great!” Jonah said, nicely distracted. “We get to start band this year.”
“Band?” Samira said. “Awesome! What instruments are you playing?”
“Alto sax,” Noah said.
“Tuba,” Jonah said.
Samira and Melody blinked at each other. Melody decided to dive in and just ask.
“Ah, Jonah? Isn’t the tuba about as big as you are?”
“It is. But I’m committed,” Jonah said gravely.
